Just Ask
by Sobriety
Summary: Wesley learns a lesson from an American Classic. Contains Slash.


**Just Ask**

Disclaimers

Legal:All 'Angel: the Series' characters are (c) Joss Whedon, Fox, Mutant Enemy and probably a whole mess of other people. No infringement of copyright is intended.

Archive:Mailing lists, go right ahead. Anyone else, yes, but please let me know.

Spoilers:Up to the end of season 2 of Angel. This is nominally set in late season 3.

Summary:Wes learns a lesson from an American Classic.

Rating:PG-13

"Call me Cordelia."

Confusion. "Why wouldn't I? That's your name."

"I'm trying to establish the mood here, Fred. It's a literary reference. You're book girl ... you must have read Moby Dick?"

"No. Not enough numbers." Hesitant. "You?"

"Well ... no. But I saw it on TV once."

"The Gregory Peck version?"

"No. The new one. With what's-his-name. The bald guy from Star Trek."

Dreamy. "Patrick Stewart."

"Yeah, him. But that's not the point."

Silence.

"Fred? Fred? Come back to me, Fred. Patrick Stewart fantasies can wait."

Bashful. "Sorry."

"Are you listening now?"

"Uh huh."

Cordelia cupped her hand over the cell phone and sighed, then spoke into it again.

"So, as I was saying, it all started when Wesley giggled."

----------

Wesley giggled.

Cordelia frowned behind her 'Cleo', then shook her head slightly. She must have imagined it.

He giggled again.

The brunette flicked down the top of the magazine to stare at the British man, who was hunched over his desk, reading a thick, leather-bound book.

Now he was sniggering.

"What's with you?" Cordelia arched her eyebrow; a gesture perfected through hours in front of the mirror. "All that research finally fried your brain?"

"Pardon?" Wesley looked up from his tome, blinking owlishly.

"I'm talking about your sudden fit of the giggles. That doesn't usually happen until at least the fourth Martini, and I know for a fact that all you've had this afternoon was a cup of tea."

Wesley blinked again, looking confused. Then his expression cleared.

"Oh! No, I'm not researching." He gestured at the book in front of him, "This is an early edition of 'Moby Dick'. I found it amongst Angel's books and decided to read it."

Cordelia wrinkled her nose,

"Isn't that about a smelly old whale?"

"In part." Wesley smiled condescendingly, "though there are many levels of meaning in the text -"

Cordelia sternly held up a hand, cutting Wesley off before he could get into full flow.

"Not here for the lecture, Wes. I just want to know what's so funny about a book where a bunch of guys kill a whale."

"Actually, the whale kills them." Wesley tapped the book in front of him, "As for the source of my laughter." He emphasised the word in a way that very clearly meant 'not giggles'. "It's just that I haven't read it in a number of years, and I'm rather surprised that I never noticed how much ... homoerotic subtext ... exists in the novel."

"You mean it's a big old gay book?"

The Englishman looked pained,

"This is hardly a nineteenth century 'Queer as Folk', Cordelia."

"But that's what you mean, right?" She stood up and peered at the aged type of the book, "Show me some of it."

Wesley sighed, then pointed at a passage near the top of the page;

"'He pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me around the waist, and said henceforth we were married'," Cordelia shrugged, "It's a bit gay, but hardly hilarious."

Wesley pointed to another passage, reading it out as he did so,

"'How it is I know not; but there is no place like a bed for confidential disclosures between friends. Man and wife, they say, there open the very bottom of their souls to each other; and some old couples often lie and chat over old times till nearly morning. Thus, then, in our hearts' honeymoon, lay I and Queequeg -- a cosy, loving pair.'" Wesley looked triumphant, "Or here, 'I began to be sensible of strange feelings. I felt a melting in me. No more my splintered heart and maddened hand were turned against the wolfish world. This soothing savage had redeemed it.'"

Cordelia couldn't help a slight smile. Then a thought struck her, and she snorted, trying to bite back the laughter that threatened to bubble out.

"See?" Wesley looked smug.

Cordelia swallowed, tried to keep her face straight.

"So what you're saying ..." she paused to control herself, "is that this cultured, refined young man has met a strong, rough and tumble one. And they've become ..." she made air quotes with her fingers, "very close friends."

"Yes." Wesley's tone was cautious, as though he sensed a trap.

"And you think that they're more than friends because they spend a lot of time together alone, hanging out, talking, touching one another -"

"Yes, yes." The Englishman broke in hurriedly, "I don't think you need be any more explicit than that, Cordelia."

The young woman sighed,

"What did you do last night, Wes?"

"Gunn and I killed that Herelgoth demon over near the park."

"And tonight?"

"Barring any supernatural interference, I'm going to the pictures. Gunn, too. Why, would you like to come?"

"Me? No." Cordelia shook her head, "I wouldn't want to interrupt your date."

Wesley sputtered.

Cordelia waved her hand airily,

"I should have seen it earlier, I suppose." She declared, "All those evenings you two spend together ... the way you always seem to pair off and leave me with Angel when we're on a case ... the funny handshakes ... it's all just an expression of your secret yearnings for one another."

"It is not." Wesley sounded flustered.

"How are you getting to the theatre?" Cordelia challenged.

"We're taking my bike ..." Wesley frowned, "But only because I won't get in that truck of Gunn's. It's a menace. I don't know why he doesn't get something safer -" his eyes widened and he cut off his sentence.

"I bet Gunn wears the pink helmet." Cordelia teased, "I bet he doesn't even complain."

"Well, it's not like he can get helmet hair." The response was weak. "You ... you don't really think Gunn feels that way ... do you?"

The brunette stared at the Englishman for a moment. Until that point, she had simply been teasing, enjoying the opportunity to taunt her straight-laced co-worker. But there was something about the look in his eyes ...

"Why?" her tone was softer, "Do you?"

Wesley's silence was answer enough, as a blush began to spread across his neck and shoulders.

"Really?" Cordelia squealed, "Oh wow! That's so cool! You guys would be so cute, together."

The Englishman's blush had risen to the tips of his ears, now, which were bright pink with embarrassment.

"There's the small matter of whether Gunn feels the same way." He managed at last, looking so terrified that Cordelia had to suppress an urge to hug him.

"Are you kidding?" she snorted, "How long have we known Gunn?"

"Nearly two years ..."

"How many dates has he been on, in that time?"

"Well ... to my knowledge -"

"None, right? Don't you think that's a bit odd for a hunky young guy like him?"

Wesley looked set to stammer some kind of objection, but Cordelia had no intention of letting him,

"He's into you, Wes." She pointed imperiously at the phone. "All you have to do is have the guts to ask."

----------

"And he did, and now they are officially an item!" Cordelia crowed.

"It's really great that you got Wesley and Gunn together." Fred sounded thoughtful. "I just have one question."

"Yeah?"

"Why did you call to tell me this now? You knew I was at the State Physics Symposium. Couldn't it have waited until later?"

Cordelia laughed nervously,

"Well, it's funny you should mention that. You see, I have something I want to ask you ..."


End file.
